


Palliative

by wanderingsmith



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-01 00:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: When he got to his building and looked up at his dark windows, the mere thought of standing in that cold place, filled with the smell of booze and nothing to keep the ghosts from tearing into him, he turned and hurried away.





	Palliative

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> Another of the many fic pieces that appeared at some point in the last few months but never felt postable. This got attached to a smut fic where they got together, but really.. there's no link between. so.. no reason to hold it up.

Bond heard a pitiful little squeak as he walked by a pair of trash cans and looked down to see a bedraggled kitten half-hidden behind them. Without thinking, he crouched down and slowly reached his hand out. He half expected the thing to hiss and scratch, but it hesitantly touched an extended knuckle with its frozen nose, instead, and Bond carefully uncurled his fingers to scratch its head. People were walking by and probably staring at him, but he couldn’t care. He finally tried to reach further and wrap his palm around its belly, lifting slowly when it didn’t run.

Bringing it up to his chest and opening his coat to lay it inside, soaked, filthy fur on his dress shirt so the coat shielded it, Bond stared at it, lost as to what to do. “I can’t keep you, you know. I’m never here.” Maybe.. Even the thought of Q’s gentle smile made him ache and he swallowed hard, continuing to walk rather than stop and think. The pouring rain was on the edge of frozen and now that he had the kitten to think of, he hurried rather than meander as he’d been doing. 

But when he got to his building and looked up at his dark windows, the mere thought of standing in that cold place, filled with the smell of booze and nothing to keep the ghosts from tearing into him, he turned and hurried away. The little creature was warm and dry enough inside his coat.. 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he walked before he looked up at an older building, and a softly lit window up on the third floor, and could barely swallow, his eyes burning with the regrets and self-hatred raging in his chest. He had no right to ask anything of the man. He shouldn’t be here. 

He ignored the hotter streak of water down his face; it was just rain. He’d foist the kitten on Eve; that, that he could do. He- God he wanted to ring that bell and- when the buzzer sounded without a word, Bond’s eyes jerked to the corners of the porch, looking for- there. He should have known Q would have cameras everywhere. He should…

But he walked up the steps and pushed the door open, no longer strong enough to keep himself from reaching. His steps dragged on the way to the elevator and as the doors closed, he roughly wiped at his face, telling himself to get himself under control. He just needed to drop off the kitten so it’d be safe.. Or at least ask if Q would.. And then take it to Eve. He could fucking control himself for a goddamn minute! He could. Whatever Q had seen, he didn’t need to have it in his face.

Q’s door opened as he got to it and the man didn’t say anything as Bond stared at an old, faded and ragged shirt-collar, didn’t wait for Bond to start speaking. Reached out and pulled him in by his less-worse shoulder, immediately starting to rub his dripping hair with the towel Bond hadn't noticed he held.

The kitten squeaked again and Q stopped, looking down at Bond’s chest, unhesitantly and without asking pulling the wet coat open and then smiling at the still damp creature clinging to Bond's once-perfect white shirt. He leaned in, gently reaching to offer his fingers to it, “Well aren’t you a pretty thing. Get yourself caught out in that cold downpour? But you’ve found a nice safe spot, now, haven’t you?”

Bond suddenly couldn’t breathe, teeth clenching on the blunt spear forcing its way up his chest, trying to swallow, his throat stuck on the lump and Q’s head right there and- god! He couldn’t just start-

He barely felt Q’s hand on his nape pulling his face to his shoulder without a word, the other hand still touching the kitten and now keeping it safe from being crushed between them. He was trying to keep the pitiful sounds from escaping his throat, trying to catch the shaking and just. Fucking. *Stop*. This! He had to get himself under control. God. In front of Q. In front of his Quartermaster, he couldn’t- But Q hadn’t said a word. Stroked his hair a bit. Stroked the kitten. And Bond didn’t feel.. Didn’t feel any judgment. It had to be there. He was a damned 00 agent and he couldn’t just- streaks of wet heat peeled down his cheek again, but then he could suddenly breathe and he straightened, half set to make a run for it- except that Q’s hand slipped from his hair to his shoulder and pushed the wet coat off, the towel somehow gone.

“Let’s get you on the couch, shall we?” he wasn’t talking to Bond, was cooing at the kitten as though the man it clung to wasn’t there, for all it was Bond’s shoulder he was tugging at. “The living room’s warmer and you’ll want to have a nap, no doubt.”

Bond found himself pushed onto the couch, and then Q was snugged up besides him and tugging his head back onto a bony shoulder, odd bend to his spine hardly noticed as his cheek came to rest on ancient cotton, Q’s soft monologue continuing as the kitten let him scratch its ears, “We’ll have to get you something to eat. I think I have a can of salmon. I always think I’ll make myself a sandwich and then I never do,” Bond heard it start to purr particularly loudly and relaxed a little more into Q, hearing a familiar grin in his voice, just as though they were on the comms, “I’m glad you like me little one. Here, you want to come see me?” The sharp little claws he’d gotten used to having on his chest haltingly pulled out of his shirt and then there was the pad of tiny paws before the tiny warm weight vanished and left chill to dig into his skin in its wake.

“There we go. Hello there. Let’s rearrange ourselves so we can have a nap. Easy now.” Bond hadn’t really paid attention to the words, and barely cared to wonder what Q was doing shifting him about as he kept humming reassurances. 

“There. Isn’t that better now?”

The purring was back and Bond could feel that he was somehow laying down, half on his side with the couch at his back and Q almost warm under him and why the *hell* would that make *his* chest feel so fucking heavy?? He could keep the whimpers from escaping, but he couldn’t stop his breath shaking, obviously, or wetness soaking into the thin cloth under his face.

“You’re barely old enough to be alone, aren’t you? Well, hardly the first. You’re a strong little thing, you’ll be fine in no time. And you’ve got a home, now. Hopefully you’re a smart one and you don’t get too curious about things in Q-branch. You’ll be living there more than here.”

Bond felt that little bundle of warmth come up against his chest again; still on Q, but leaning on him too. Purring contentedly and he tried to steady his breathing at least. Just in, and out, and back in and slow and steady. He could do that, couldn’t he?

Q’s guarding hand left his hair and Bond tensed, voices crying out in his mind in panic and-

He almost jerked up in defense when he felt something billowing over him, “There, a little more warmth. Wouldn’t want that still-damp fur to give you cold. I only got home an hour ago, this place takes a while to heat up.” Q’s hand settled into his hair again and he tried not to shiver in undeserved relief, “We’ll get you a bath in a bit. Nice and warm and get all the dirt and fleas off of you. And check if you have a weewee so we can pick a proper name for you. I still use Dawn for dishes so we can use that to wash you with and won’t have to go out tonight. An old towel in the bathroom for you to sleep on and make a mess on will do until we get you litter. You’re all safe. Nice and comfy and we can all rest here for a bit. Been a damn long day, you know.”

Q kept babbling, ostensibly at the kitten, though Bond was distantly aware that it was as much aimed at him. 

Accusing eyes stared at him from bloodied little faces, gaunt and abused and dead, now, Q’s voice a murmur behind their cries, his hand’s path smoothing through the shakes of pain and grave-cold, that purring spot of heat over his sharply aching heart and he knew he shouldn’t be here, but he was too damned weak a man to untangle himself.

\---

He’d thought he was better. Had managed to get Psych to pass him. Had been calm and steady during the mission. No ghosts, no shakes, no burning eyes. 

But the moment he’d stepped through the doors of Q-branch and seen Q standing at his station and smiling a quiet welcome at him, the world blurred at the edge of his sight and he needed to run. Needed to be away from any chance of people-

 

Damn. Q hurriedly tapped the second comm he’d taken to wearing and whistled a quick two notes into it, hoping it would have the desired effect on the wandering kitten. Then he tried to keep his expression from shifting as he waited for James to walk to him. He wasn’t sure what he should do if the man turned and ran as he seemed on the verge of doing, so he was glad when he instead stepped toward Q. He’d had a bad feeling the damage from that bloody thrice-damned human-smuggling ring in Iraq wasn’t done yet.

When his lover stepped up to his desk, he was stiff as though he didn’t remember how to move in his skin, or was on the edge of breaking, which was entirely too likely. Q didn’t comment as the stiff hand that reached for Bond’s gun shook visibly. He was just putting a hand out for the earpiece Bond had gotten from his pocket when the sound of little claws running on cement from somewhere toward R&D was heard and Bond’s wounded eyes flew to the still-small brown and orange streak that came around the corner of Q’s desk and ran to the agent’s leg, the little comm unit still attached to its collar. 

The painfully silent man managed a welcoming grunt as he bent to pick the kitten up and brought it up to his chest. Q hurried around his desk, knowing there wasn’t much time left. He touched James’ shoulder, standing between him and most of Q-branch and tilted his head toward his office, feeling the muscles under his hand clench and seeing Bond’s face start to fall as the kitten’s loving purrs broke the last of his strength. Hunching over the creature, Bond managed to make it to Q’s office without it being obvious he was breaking, and Q hurried to lock it behind him so that only he could enter. He clenched his jaw as he stared at the closed door, but before he could even think of making a rash choice, he heard 003 click onto the comms for the run through an opium-dealer’s pleasure palace.

It took an hour to get her safely through and out and another half hour to go over the acquired data to be sure they had what they needed and to distribute the job of analysing it to the proper people. Then Q caught R’s attention and flicked his eyes at the people around them and nodded to his office, “Only for world-ending emergencies.” 

 

He knew the sound of Q’s door locking meant he was safe. No cameras were running and no one would be able to enter and catch him breaking other than Q, whenever he could escape his duties to waste his time on a broken lover. Mina purring on his chest, tiny claws happily kneading through another shirt and leaving tiny streaks on his skin too familiar. Too linked to spending two days unable to control himself as the kitten and Q both wrapped themselves around him. “Fuck. Fuckfuckf-” he clenched his jaw on the words as he heard the sob sneaking into the litany. 

He stumbled over to Q’s sofa, shaking and clumsy as a foal as he laid down on it on his back to not disturb the kitten getting ready to sleep over his heart. He couldn’t afford this sentimental shit. Couldn’t continue to turn into some sobbing fool over some damn finished job, no matter how many innocents he’d let die. He’d *tried*, damn it! He’d wanted nothing more than to save them! He just wasn’t *good enough*. And they’d paid the price for his failure. Again.

Mina never budged as he shook and swallowed and tried to breathe and felt the fucking *tears* slide down his face like a damned weakling.

 

The shakes had passed and he was almost breathing normally when the door opened and Q hurried to him. The dark room and his swollen, burning eyes made it hard to really see the man, but Bond wasn’t surprised when he was silently shifted about until Mina was on one side of Q’s chest with barely a squeak of protest and Bond was on the other, Q petting them both and gently shifting Mina to rest against Bond. 

James was so tired, between the normal strain of even a quiet intel mission and the last little while in this office; he closed his eyes and gave in. Q didn’t deserve to have to deal with his useless self. And *he* didn’t deserve the gentle care. But he couldn’t fight this.

 

For all that he was still worried, Q couldn’t help but relax a little. Taking the time to finish his job hadn’t broken Bond further. When Q had walked in, he’d been wrapped around a happily purring Mina, and for all his face was obviously damp in the brief flash of light from the branch, he was breathing reasonably calmly. Had accepted Q’s office as a place to hide safely, and accepted Mina’s presence in his arms to soothe him. 

And now allowed Q to hold him, no sign yet of the furious rejection he kept expecting to appear. He stroked Mina’s soft fur and James’ slightly rougher hair, glad to have his lover back at his side, physically safe, at least. They would get through this.

When he heard the click in his earpiece hardly a quarter hour later, he gently covered James’ exposed ear, hoping against hope to let him continue to doze.

R’s voice spoke regretfully, “I’m sorry, Q. M is asking for you.”

Q’s eyes closed on a silent swear before he answered in a whisper, “Patch him through.”

The reply was too quick and Q realized the man must be standing in the middle of Q-branch, and R had no doubt told him what facts she had of the situation, “Q. ..I know you well enough to know that if he needed care you’d already have him in Medical. And you’ve more than enough unused rest-days to be allowed an early afternoon. I’m sorry to disturb you anyway, but I need to know the status on 003.”

Shit. In his hurry, he’d forgotten to send the man a report. “Sorry, Sir. Objective completed, she is clear and was on her way to her hotel when we disconnected, she should be checking in.. momentarily, to say she’s arrived. The data she acquired is-” he heard R speak in the background and cut himself off.

“It appears that if I’d waited a few minutes, I could have avoided disturbing you. 003 just checked in. Thank you, Quartermaster. Feel free to take tomorrow off. I’m aware you’ve been here far more than 8 hours. Again.”

The connection clicked before Q could reply and he rolled his eyes rather than make any reaction that might be felt by-

“What did he want?”

Bond’s voice was rough and Q automatically tugged him infinitesimally closer, glad to hear him speak after his silent arrival, “An update on 003. Apparently he trusts me to hustle you to Medical at need.” Not a trust Q was eager to test his ability to fulfill.

Rather than get defensive, James nuzzled closer, albeit with a stiff little hesitancy that hadn’t been part of the couple of months of relationship they'd had before Iraq. “Dr. Frobisher might have put a note in my file that it was better for me to spend time with you and Mina after missions rather than being sent to Psych, or even debrief, if possible. He was muttering that all 00s should have kittens to settle them.”

Q snorted gently, “006 would be better with a pup. And 004… a weasel, maybe.”

“Do weasels cuddle?”

“You’d be surprised. Too smelly for *me* but...” he smiled at the huff that would have been a chuckle. It was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Frobisher' seems to be the name locked in my head as the Psych doc Bond refers to whenever I write.
> 
> I suspect many will disagree with my portrayal of Bond here. a) I'm sorry but.. well.. it's my party, as they say, I'll make 'em cry if I want to... b) just because someone appears 'strong' and emotionless in public, doesn't mean they don't weep in private. someone like that in my own life once told me, more than 10 years after the fact, that he'd cried while at work when his daughter had cancer, even though it was one they had a treatment with good chances and.. anyway. point is point.


End file.
